Because the Night
by ImpracticalDemon
Summary: It's not easy to care about somebody whose reputation as a trickster fox spirit is generally well-earned. Rina (MC) spends the night watching over Mitsuhide while he works, and the pair take a long-awaited step forward in their previously not-quite-acknowledged relationship. Who is seducing whom? Rated M for sexual situations (esp Epilogue).
1. Chapter 1

**A/Note:** Written for Ikesen fan and friend Marina for her birthday. Also because Mitsuhide is oh so very interesting.

The story _could_ use an epilogue, but we'll have to see if that happens. At present, this is complete as-is.

A very mild M for sexual situations.

~ Imp

* * *

 **Because the Night**

It was a cold night, all the colder for being so late that it was early, and I couldn't repress a shiver. A soft blanket was wrapped around my shoulders before my next breath; as usual, he'd anticipated my need with uncanny ease. He said he wasn't psychic - that I was just 'easier to read than a picture scroll' - but I had my doubts. When pressed, he'd produce his razor-edge smile and murmur, 'Who can say?'

In the here and now, he was crouched down in front of me, looking ghostly in the moonlight filtering in through the window slats. The dying glow of the lamp by his desk created more shadows than light here against the far wall. The nickname - or epithet - 'Kitsune' had never fit him so well. His eyes gleamed topaz in the gloom, and his pale hair fell around his face like an unholy halo. Trickster fox or fallen angel, stubborn pride wanted at least a glimpse behind the mask before my own defenses crumbled completely.

"Well, Rina? I'm disappointed. You said - insisted, even - that you'd stay up with me, but here you are asleep."

"Not true. And even if I was asleep, which I wasn't, at least I'm still here, aren't I?"

I'd refused to drape myself across his lap, having no ambition for a career as space heater, but I'd wanted to be helpful. To that end, I'd brought tea and small snacks at intervals throughout his long night of super-secret, super-urgent work. Masamune would have been proud of me for keeping him more or less fed and watered.

"You are, most certainly, here. I wonder what I should make of that? Or perhaps you will enlighten me." There was something in his voice that made my breath catch. This was… not exactly new, but there seemed to be more purpose in his words tonight.

Mitsuhide traced a long, lean finger along the curve of my jaw, and the cold started to retreat for reasons other than the silk-lined coverlet tucked under my chin. Then again, the quilted and embroidered blanket was itself a treasure of its kind - the possession of a wealthy, but practical man, and likely kept for personal use in his bedchamber. He had wrapped me in an heirloom.

I tried to stay passive, but it wasn't easy. I wanted to lean into his touch and demand acknowledgment that we were something more than - whatever we admitted to now. I kept my voice steady, even though he certainly already knew how keyed-up I really was. Any vestiges of drowsiness had vanished.

"I don't know about enlightening but… does this mean you're done?"

"I wonder?" His lips quirked a little - a familiar gesture. "I am done my work for the night, at least."

His fingers stroked the line of my jaw, and then trailed down my neck. My world began to contract to glimmering gold eyes and a feather-light caress. I tipped up my head, much as one would for a kiss, except that in my case it felt more as if I were offering my throat to a predator.

"Mitsuhide…"

"Shhh…" His gentle admonition was a warm breath on my ear, and my nerves hummed and relayed all sorts of interesting messages to my brain. He was pressing me close to the wall, all space between us lost to his presence alone. "You are playing a dangerous game, dear chatelaine, but who am I to deny you? What are you hoping for though, I wonder?"

I felt lips on my ear, and felt my stomach muscles contract into the swoop that I recognized as the tug of love-lust-passion. It told me that my feelings were deeply engaged, and that in turn gave me the ability to draw back somehow. Call it the last vestiges of self-preservation.

"I am not your dear chatelaine, Akechi Mitsuhide-sama. You're using the title as a… a barb to push me away."

His head dipped again, and I felt a kiss against my temple. Then he pulled me into his lap, making it clear that his strength was far beyond me, if it ever came to that. His arms were like steel bars around me, and my cheek now lay against his bare chest. I could feel the cool metal of his necklet, but other sensations were blotted out by the sound of his heartbeat and the immediate warmth of his tongue and teeth on my skin.

Even as I tried to regain enough control to protest his lack of a verbal response, one hand twined itself in my hair, and his deep voice spoke softly into the silence. "Then what shall I call you? Youchose me remember. You stayed and stayed and stayed, when you clearly should have… run." The hand not in my hair skimmed my side before settling on my thigh.

"I. Won't. Run." I forced the words out, even though almost every fibre of my being wanted to let him simply have things his way. I told myself that patience would be worth it. Anything to finally close the distance that still lay between us - an intangible chasm that maybe only reckless honesty could bridge. I bit off my gasp when his fingers found the parting in my kimono and stroked the soft skin beneath the silk and linen. "Mitsuhide. What do you want from me?"

"That should be obvious by now, I think." This time he spoke against the tender place just beneath my ear, before trailing gentle kisses - but such kisses! - down as far as my collarbone. He still wouldn't allow me to move my head, although I longed, so very much, to press my lips to his and feel a proper kiss at last.

"Then why not tell me?"

"You've already submitted, princess. You decided to ignore all the warnings." The hand on my thigh had pushed the fabric of my kimono aside completely, although his caresses remained just above the knee and went no further. Still, I knew that he could feel my trembling as I fought neither to arch closer to him, nor to allow my head to fall back.

"It's not about submission, and I'm not your princess. Where is your courage, Mitsuhide?" I continued to say his name, although that time it came out strained and hoarse, as he once again turned his attention to my neck. "I won't run, and I'll give myself to you freely, but I don't want you… to… think… that this is all about you… taking and controlling. If I'm what you want–" A soft cry escaped me, as he suddenly skimmed his hand across my skin all the way from my lower thigh to my hipbone, exposing my leg and side almost up to my obi. Nerve-endings sang in response to his touch. This was getting dangerously close to a breaking point one way or another. I struggled through the haze of sensation to find the right words.

"Well… dear daimyo, dear spymaster - and probably head torturer and other ugly things - what will it be? Will you… look me in the eye and… tell me what you want - from me? Or should I… go?"

The hand holding my head loosened at last. Mitsuhide's expression in the weird play of light and shadow would have frightened me, a little, if I hadn't become familiar with every part of his face, line by line, over the past weeks.

"I play to win, Rina-chan, and my aims are my own. You can't count on me to 'do the right thing' you know."

"If you say so. But–"

"Haven't you listened to Hideyoshi–"

"Yes, and I still run in the halls!" Frustrated, I looked full into his face - his dear, intimidating, mischievous face, with its topaz eyes and slanting brows. I forcibly stilled his hand on my hip and upper thigh. He allowed it.

"All in, Mistuhide, no half-measures. Not for either of us. If it falls apart then so be it."

He laughed, but there was no humour in it. "Why would I agree to anything now? When I could just… take?"

""Because you won't."

"Counting on my honour? I assure you–"

"Spare me. Mitsuhide. I lo–"

"No!" His voice harsh, he overrode my words, twisting me down onto the tatami and allowing his full weight to rest on me, knocking much of the air from my lungs.

"You can't frighten me," I managed to get out.

"I always have - don't lie to me, you can't." But I didn't believe the sneer, not this time.

"Fine, then I'll be frightened and stay anyway. You're losing your cool, Kitsune."

With frightening suddenness, his lips were on mine, demanding and passionate. I'd wanted this kiss so much, and now here we were. I wavered, struggling for the last vestiges of unclouded thought, but pent up need and emotion had no such silly qualms. It wasn't possible to resist moving against the weight across my hips, not as he claimed my lips, and tongue, and mouth - not when I could feel my own passion returned with interest. I indulged myself by running my fingers through the pale strands of his hair; it was as silky as it looked.

He eventually took some of his weight onto his forearms, and pulled his lips from mine, leaving me panting for breath and glowing with heat. The satiric look had gone from his face, and what was left was yearning. He kissed me again, tongue winding with mine, arousal ever more evident. Our fingers touched and clasped, even as he shook himself free again.

"Don't call me that." The words were clear and firm.

"I…" I had no idea what he was talking about. His thin, muscular body still pressed so tightly to mine made my pulse race and my nerves continue to flare with desire.

"Use my name. And… I promise to use yours." Then his angled brows flew up into his usual, mocking expression. "Whenever I remember to, at least." He ignored my feeble protest. " Let the foolish and the superstitious believe in the mask - it's a useful tool. Although you are really quite foolish yourself, aren't you - Rina-chan?"

Memory was seeping back through my lust-dulled, love-addled brain. I wanted him to be happy - and that meant refusing to let him play the villain with me. He used it to keep people at arm's-length. He was kneeling above me now, and staring down into my face. He looked conflicted.

"I might just use you. Even an unprecedented naif like you must know that."

"You might. Are you going to?"

Instead of answering, he loosened my collar and then began to unfasten the ties of my multi-layered kimono. His thin fingers stroked the skin above my breasts, and I felt my muscles contract involuntarily.

"Mitsuhide."

"… I have long found myself with the acute desire to keep you safe and smiling your charming, clueless smile. It is inconvenient."

A hundred different ways he could make me smile right now flitted through my brain - and presumably across my picture-scroll face. Whatever my expression, Mitsuhide's eyes widened perceptibly, and then he kissed me greedily, refusing to let me breathe properly until it was absolutely necessary. Then he pressed his forehead to mine with infinite gentleness, so that his face was no more than a pale blur directly above mine.

"Let me try to love you," he said at last, the words spoken on a sigh. "And don't run from me."

Relief swept over me, along with love and desire. I reached up to cradle his face in my hands.

"I love you."

A crooked smile, hard to make out unless you assumed it was there.

"I know. You really are unaccountably foolish. Shall I make love to you here, or carry you to my bed?"

The question wasn't really directed at me, which was just as well. Heat suffused my skin from head to toe, and every muscle in my core tightened in anticipation.

"I suppose my bed is more appropriate. Besides" -he grinned wickedly, looking much more his usual self- "I'm told I should use it more…"

Cradling me against his chest, he rose without apparent effort. One hand stroked the bare skin of my leg almost to the top, and I quivered. When he paused at the shoji door to lean down to kiss the tip of one half-bared breast, I had to choke back a moan. I was so ready to be done with talking.

 **[END] (probably)**

* * *

A/Note: Your thoughts, comments, and reviews are very much appreciated. Especially since IkeSen is a newer fandom for me. Oh, and please let me know if you'd be interested in the higher M-rated conclusion.


	2. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who read and commented on this story on tumblr, FFN, and AO3. I received quite a few requests to provide an epilogue, which is to say that many of you wanted more details *ahem* about Rina (MC) and Mitsuhide's first night as lovers. To be honest, my rubber arm required very little twisting. Without more ado: the definitely M-rated conclusion to the original story.

~ Imp

* * *

 **Because the Night (Belongs to Lovers) ~ Epilogue**

* * *

His bedroom was dark, but that didn't trouble him in the least. As sure-footed as if it were daylight, he carried me to his bed without hesitation, setting me across his lap—more or less—under a downy coverlet that was thicker and softer than the one he'd wrapped around me earlier, and just as luxurious. Who knew that Mitsuhide took care for his own comfort after all? For some reason, despite his status, I'd envisioned a basic futon, with a thin blanket that left its owner shivering on cold nights—on the rare occasions he actually slept properly, that is.

"You like fine materials, good to know," I blurted out, despite the way my body, and most of my mind, was reacting to his touch—to just being here, on these terms, with him.

Mitsuhide had been unpinning my hair—and taking obvious delight in watching, or sensing, the way I shivered with longing at nothing more than his warm breath on my ear. His fingers stilled briefly, and he gave a low, rather pleasant, chuckle.

"Were you imagining something thin, and bit musty?" He laid his cheek alongside mine, wrapping his arms tightly about me. In a low voice that thrummed against my skin, he murmured, "But I'm a practical man, my dear. That, and I think my servants are trying to entice me to sleep more. Why keep lovely things unused, after all? …And this is so much more appropriate for bedding a princess, don't you think?"

Somehow, every word was charged. His warm mouth nuzzled my neck, and one arm loosened enough for a hand to gently cup a breast, and then tease and pinch an already taut nipple into aching, near-painful sensation. I gasped, and squirmed, and tried to reach for him in return, but my arms were trapped at my sides.

 _His words are… possessive._ _His hands touch me as if to lay claim, even though he says I've already given myself over to him._ The thoughts drifted through a haze of desire, and it took a few seconds to realize that he was unknotting and unwinding my obi, now—not as simple as it sounded, since the beautiful, intricate, _aggravating_ thing tied in the back, and was close to four meters long. _Untying a girl's obi must be one of those life skills for seductive spymasters_. With the obi cord already on the floor somewhere, and the obi rapidly loosening its hold, my outer kimono was sliding off my shoulders, and the soft layers of my collar and under-kimono with it.

"I'm not a princess"—is what I wanted to say, but his lips and teeth were on my collarbone, and the hands removing the obi were becoming more and more attentive to my breasts—and _who knew that strong, thin fingers through thin silk and cotton could be so hot and demanding?_ "Nnnngh—aaahhh—Mitsu-hide—Mitsuhide- _sama_ …" But the use of the courtly honorific came out sounding adoring, rather than pointedly over-the-top.

"Yes, I understand," he told me soothingly, his pale hair and eyes glimmering in what little light there was. "But I will call you princess if I choose—my princess, who has come to my bed burning with longing, offering me her body to pleasure and be pleased by."

The obi was discarded, and cool air touched my skin as he finally parted the front of my kimono, along with the warm layers beneath. I heard a tiny hiss of indrawn breath that spoke of admiration and desire, and was pleased to realize that he wasn't quite as calm and collected as he seemed. When I shivered involuntarily—not from cold—he surprised me by pulling me up to him and kissing me, deeply and passionately, on the mouth. His hands held and caressed my naked body under the open kimono, while his lips and tongue claimed mine with all the need and emotion I could hope for. His words might still be knowing, and a little too smug, but his kiss held the promise of love, and I gave myself over to it recklessly, pouring all my love for him, all my want for him, into my response.

When our lips finally parted for longer than it took to draw in air, Mitsuhide pressed my head into the crook of his neck and rested his forehead against my crown. My blood was singing in my ears, and my body burned with wild need.

"I love you," I told him. "I love you so much."

His grip tightened almost painfully. Then my kimono was shoved roughly down off my shoulders, and stripped from my body, and I found myself being pressed back hard into the futon. Mitsuhide knelt across my hips, arousal evident, expression hidden by the darkness. The warmth and weight of his body just _there_ was both tantalizing and frustrating, because it wasn't nearly enough to satisfy. When I reached up to him—my arms finally free of constraining sleeves—he grasped my wrists and licked at the soft inner skin, making me writhe under him, moaning.

"You have no instinct for self-preservation, do you?" he asked, removing his mouth from my wrists, and pinning them to either side of my head.

"I—want-nnnn—to—touch you—back!"

He smirked down at me, apparently enjoying my frustration. I wished I could see him better, but even in my hazy, emotion-and-lust-filled state, I could tell that he wasn't going to grant that wish—not this time, when he needed the darkness to take the edge off vulnerability.

"You want to touch me?" The hands holding my wrists shifted enough for him to bend down to kiss my brow—a misleadingly innocent gesture, since he was also grinding himself against my sensitized, quivering mound. "But I think that will have to wait until I've learned more about you…"

He drew my arms higher above my head, and then—like a conjurer, it seemed to me—he produced my obi cord and began to wind it about my crossed wrists. I stared up at him, surprise giving way to fascination and intense arousal, rather than the shock I would have expected from myself. I forced my voice to work, although it came out rough and needy.

"Are you—so scared—I'll run?"

Mitsuhide finished binding my wrists—his skill didn't surprise me—and let his hands sweep over my hair, across my cheeks, down the column of my throat, and onto my shoulders. He traced lines along my skin with slightly calloused fingers.

"Oh no, I'm quite sure you won't." His teeth flashed in brief, scimitar-like smile. "But I have wanted you for a long time, and this is the best way to ensure that you will let me have my way with you. That is—I don't want your naive sense of fair play to prevent me from taking my time with you, in a misguided desire to please me. This will remind you of what I really want."

He began to remove his clothing in an unhurried manner, while I lay there staring up at him, both entranced and confounded. My desire to touch him only grew stronger as he stripped, and I found myself licking at already-swollen lips at the sight of him. Lean, and sinewy, and muscled—or so I inferred from the shape and shadow of him, given the absence of light. I forgot my bound wrists long enough to try to reach up to run my hands over his body, and confirm what my eyes strained to make out, but the silk braid was indeed both a reminder and a deterrent.

"Who said I only wanted to touch you to be fair?!" I finally demanded, having regained enough mental acuity to form thoughts into words.

"I did." Mitsuhide looked down at me appreciatively, and began stroking and teasing the skin around my breasts and down onto my stomach. In moments, I was aching for more, lost to his sure touch on my skin, and the knowledge that we were both, finally, naked, and extremely willing.

"But I want to touch you for—nnngh—for _me_ , not just for you!"

"How unfortunate for you then," my lover—my nemesis—purred, stretching out over me, and grinding himself against me. "But _I_ don't want you distracting me like that just yet, when I have so much I want to do…"

He held my legs fast with his own, but shifted down along my body, hands tightening on hips and waist, until his mouth found one breast and began to suckle at one nipple, first gently and then more roughly. A hand caressed my side and then started to play with the other breast. My moans became cries—mostly formless, but also his name—when he finally abandoned teasing my breasts in order to focus lower, trailing kisses across my stomach, and lower still, to the sensitive, oh-so-sensitive place at the apex of my legs.

He explored me first with his fingers, stroking and caressing every wet, intimate fold, while his free hand kneaded one thigh, and my ass, and his mouth breathed warm, moist air on my lower abdomen. My heart—my nerve endings everywhere—felt about ready to explode. Several times, I found myself trying to reach down to at least grip his hair, or touch his cheek, only to be foiled by the damn cord around my wrists, which deterred me for reasons only partially to do with the way it constrained my movement.

"Well, my princess—my lover? Are you still with me?" Mitsuhide's voice was low and dark, but his words were very sweet.

"I—yes—I'm with you—nnnnnnngh—oh _gods_ —Mitsuhide—"

His fingers slid in much deeper than before, making me moan, and then both his hands were gripping my hips, and his tongue and lips began to lave and massage my most sensitive, sensitized spot. I found myself trying to curl up around him, but he only tightened his hold, and buried his face further into me, and my whole body writhed with pleasure, while the muscles of my core thrummed an ever-increasing rhythm of need, seeking desperately for release.

Just as sensation began to blot out everything else, I thought I heard Mitsuhide curse, and then his hard member was suddenly hot within me, and his body was heavy on mine, joining in the wild rhythm of my climax. _Oh gods, oh gods…_ His teeth bit down hard on my shoulder, and everything went incandescent.

"Oh _fuck_ , Mitsuhide, _fuck_!" I was probably screaming, but I could barely hear it over the roaring of my blood as orgasm took me entirely, my hips bucking up into his with all the force I could muster.

Somehow, I clearly heard the ragged, improbable laugh that followed, and then, as this most controlled of men lost all control, a soft but intense string of words, like a prayer: "I—love you. I love you. Gods help us both… I love you."

 **[END]**

* * *

...I wish them well. My work here is done...


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